


The Sith Schnee: Codename Starkiller

by Hadrian_Kallig2077



Category: RWBY, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Star Wars Expanded Universe, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, F/M, Jedi History (Star Wars), Neglected Whitley, Rare Pair, Whitley Schnee becomes a Sith, kinda edgy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadrian_Kallig2077/pseuds/Hadrian_Kallig2077
Summary: “You were weak when I found you, now your hatred has become your strength. At last, the Dark Side is your ally. Your destiny is now your own. Forge your own path, and never forget, Peace...is a lie. Rise, my apprentice. Rise, Starkiller”From the moment he was born, Whitley fought and clawed his way to achieve the tiniest bit of praise and success. His sisters ignored him, his mother despised him, and his father saw him as a disposable tool, the third chance should Winter and Weiss fail him. In a twist of fate, Willow goes too far, and Whitley is left to die in the freezing cold of Atlas. Instead of dying, Whitley finds the strength, the will, the hatred, to survive, and ends up finding a Sith Holocron. Pushed to the brink of death day after day in his training, Whitley will finally take control of his destiny. Whitley Schnee was weak, Starkiller is anything but.
Relationships: Whitley Schnee/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue I (The Birth of Hate)

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea in my head for a long time. I was originally planning this for my long time concept of a RWBY x Star Wars crossover where all the Sith Empire characters (Warrior, Inquisitor, Bounty Hunter, and Imperial Agent) would end up on Remnant. However, while I was still trying to iron out the details for that dream crossover of mine, I couldn't stop thinking about this. So, maybe in the future, I'll release Team S.I.T.H from my head development to this site with this version of Whitley Schnee. For now, I hope you enjoy this story!

_ “I’m going away, Weiss. I can’t stay here any longer. But don’t worry. I’ll call, everyday. I’ll make sure you’re alright. I promise.” Winter said, a smile adorned on her lips. _

_ Weiss was crying, but she was wearing a smile, for her sister’s sake. “It’s ok, Winter. I’ll be fine. Go.” _

_ The sisters hugged each other, worried but jubilant. As long as they had each other, they’d be fine. _

_ No one noticed the little boy behind the stairs, wanting to ask why his sister was abandoning them. _

Whitley Schnee heard another shout, along with the smash of a bottle. It seemed mother had gone even further down the drink today. As always, Klein was too busy trying to look over his sister to take care of this matter, and as usual, it fell to him, the person his mother most likely hated the most, to calm her down. The 13 year old boy headed to his mother’s room, the shouting still echoing through the mansion. At least father’s meeting was taking place in the company building tonight, rather than the mansion. It would’ve been rather embarrassing for guests to see this. He went into the room.

“Mother, that’s quite enough. Put that bottle down.”

Willow Schnee turned to him, the disgust clear in her face, even through the intoxication. 

“Welllll, if it issn’t Jacquessss mouthpiece. What are you doing herrre, boy.”

There was a time Whitley was scared of her, when she’d throw her bottle at him and he’d run away, crying for someone to help him.

Nobody ever did.

“Put down that bottle, now. Final warning, or I call father. You wouldn’t want me to interrupt his meeting for this now, would you,  _ Mother? _ ” This was the only way to ever get Willow to cooperate. Whatever guilt he’d felt when he first saw her getting beaten by father evaporated when he remembered how she tried to hurt him.

Willow did not take that kindly. Then again, she never did. “You little bastarrrd! How dare you, you *hic* talk to your mother that way.”

Whitley glared. He would not back down. Any weakness shown now would be used against him. It was how Father operated, and it was how Mother operated. They were more alike than they thought.

Willow, rather reluctantly, put the bottle down. Whitley smirked and turned around, heading to the door. It was the little victories in life that had to be treasured. It was all he had going for him.

“Well, that was easy. Please, don’t make me come up here again. It shouldn’t be that hard to find a different hobb-”

**SMASH**

_ Pain. _

Whitley’s head felt like it had exploded. Blood was pouring out. He had trouble thinking.

_ “The...The...bottle. She...must’ve….must’ve smashed it...on me?” _

Pain was bluriing his vision and dulling his thoughts. He could feel himself being moved around.

He could feel himself falling through that pain riddled haze. Falling, falling. Whitley, in desperation, moved his hands to stop his fall.

He landed, and the pain was now unbearable. Every part of his body felt like it was on fire. His left arm throbbed the most. Whitley, barely clinging on to consciousness, tried to move his left arm.

It wasn’t moving

_ It wasn’t moving _ .

Whitley tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. He could barely think. All that mattered was  _ getting away from the woman who just tried to kill him. _

His legs and his left arm were broken. He could only use his right arm to drag himself, and so he did. Scraping and clawing the thick snow to escape. He pitifully crawled away, further and further from the Schnee Mansion. Whitley stopped crawling once he realized he was far enough away from the mansion that he’d be safe from his insane mother.

Whitley blacked out, but not before a small thought went through his head.

_ Someone will find me. Father, Winter, Weiss, Klein. They...they don’t hate me, not like mother does. They’ll find me, and rescue me, and everything is going to be alright. _

**Some Time Later**

Whitley woke up, the freezing cold even worse than before. He could feel the chill descending on his bones. The pain had somehow gotten worse. He looked around. The blood trail that led from the mansion to where he was now was covered by the snow. Still, Whitley held hope, even as the air grew more and more frigid, as he blacked out again.

_ Just a little bit longer. They can’t have ignored this. I’m...I’m dying. Surely someone will come. Someone… _

**Hours Later**

Whitley woke up. It was morning. He felt frozen, his strength slipping away. 

_ I don’t understand. They..didn’t find me? They didn’t look for me? _

Whitley wanted to cry, but his tears were refusing to come out. His face wouldn’t move.

_ Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why did no one come? _

But Whitley knew the answer.

No one cared.

No one  _ ever _ cared.

A fire started burning within him, chasing away the cold that was consuming him.

They didn’t care.

They wanted him to die.

They would’ve gladly let him die out here in this frozen wasteland.

Whitley started breathing heavily. Red started to tinge his vision.

He’d show them. He’d show them all. He would live. He would scratch and claw his way to life. He would survive this nightmare, and show them all.

Strength, once fading, started to return tenfold. Torn flesh started to heal, glass started seeping out of the cuts on his head. The broken limbs began to twist painfully in the effort to return to normal. The pain, once unimaginable, was starting to dull in it’s intensity. The broken child, near death only a few minutes ago, stood up.

And  _ roared _ .

Then, the ground began to break apart underneath him. Startled, Whitley looked down.

The icy ground gave way, and Whitley fell.

Thankfully, the fall was much more brief than what he had experienced yesterday, and Whitley landed at the bottom just fine. Bruised, but nothing broken.

Whitley snarled. He did not survive death just a few minutes ago only to die in a cave. He would get out of this cursed place, and nothing would stop him.

A red light shone ahead. Whitley did not know what it was, but it’s presence was alluring. He could not find it in himself to resist the red light, and so, he started to head towards it. The glow began to get even stronger the further he walked towards it. Once the light started to become blinding, Whitley had to cover his eyes, but he still continued to walk forward. Then, the light faded. In front of Whitley were two small pyramids the size of his hand. Almost as if it was instinct, Whitley grabbed them. The pyramids began to shake, lightning surrounding one while the other lit on fire. They floated in the air, and then, just when Whitley thought they were about to break apart, the pyramid’s shape changed. The tips began to unscrew themselves, and a blood red hologram popped out of both the pyramids. One hologram showed a cheerful man in heavy armor, an easygoing smile adorned on his lips, with a small bit of warpaint on his eye. The other showed a different man with a manic smile and armored robes. Half of his face appeared to be surrounded by burnt scar tissue and a vicious brand.

“Well well well, what do we have here. New blood, perhaps? Hehehehehe, I always did enjoy putting the acolytes to work.” The scarred man remarked.

“Oh shut up, you overdramatic magician. My built in chronometer says that we haven’t been visited in centuries! This is literally the first time anyone’s opened up our holocrons! The least you could do is be polite!” The heavily armored man stated.

Whitley frowned. He had no idea what was going on. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you, why are you in this pyramid thing, and why are you so interested in me? I demand to know!”

The scarred man snickered “He demands to know. Hahahahaha. He’s in no position to be making demands, Samael.”

“Patience, Hadrian. For all we know, he could be the last of our kind. Depriving him of our knowledge would be a disservice to the Empire we served.”

“All the same, I won’t train a little shit who won’t be willing to do what it takes to...wait, what’s this?” The scarred man, Hadrian, knelt in front of Whitley. He looked over the boys various injuries, nodding all the while. 

“Hmm, incredible! You’ve been put through quite the wringer, haven’t you, boy? Hypothermia, third degree frostbite, extreme blood loss, major lacerations. Even in the slave pits, I rarely saw this level of brutality. You must be quite the survivor, standing in front of us without screaming in pain.”

“Hadrian, his power...You can feel it, can’t you?”

“Yes, Samael. I can feel it. Why, it reminds me of myself when I was his age! Perhaps this brat has potential after all.”

Whitley had had enough of this nonsense. “Tell me what’s going on, or I’m leaving to find my way off this bloody cave.”

Hadrian was about to retort, but Samael put his hand up. “I’ll deal with this. Just keep quiet.”

Samael turned to Whitley. “From what my scans are picking up, you live in a world where space travel is not yet possible, correct? I need to know this before I can start explaining everything to you.”

Whitley shook his head. “No, we can’t travel to space just yet. There’s been rumors of several projects that have tried their hand at this, but nothing concrete as of yet.”

Samael sighed “Damn it, I feared as much. Very well. Sit down, and I shall explain everything.”

Whitley sat down, confused, but he was starting to get intrigued. What was the story behind these two men, trapped in this pyramid?

“Before I delve into this, you must know, me and Hadrian, we are not spirits, or any of that kind of supernatural nonsense. These pyramids that you see before you are Sith Holocrons, devices able to capture the appearance and cognitive networks of the holocron's owners, and transform these things into the three-dimensional holograms you see before you. In my case, I contain the knowledge and mannerisms of Samael Hord, the Empire’s Wrath. The madman next to me contains the knowledge and mannerisms of Hadrian Kallig, known as Darth Nox. We act as a guide through the holocron's store of information, like a search and recovery engine with a more personal touch. We can relate stories from the holocron's archives to events in the life of the one who activated the holocron, i.e, you.”

Whitley stared, his mouth agape in awe.

“Incredible. How...how is this even possible?”

Samael smirked “It’s a rather long and boring process, but I feel that’s not what’s important at the moment. Hadrian, you’ve always been the historian. Why don’t you tell the boy of our history”

Hadrian smiled again, this one appearing far more genuine than the manic one he carried a few minutes ago. “Very well.  _ ahem.” _


	2. Prologue II (The History of The Force)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley learns about the very origins of the power he now wields

Suddenly, the cave started to fade out. Images started to appear in front of him. A group of hooded men sitting around a fire together in a grassland.

_ A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a group of philosophers and scientists discovered something extraordinary on a somewhat ordinary planet. _

A bug, catching a drop of water from a leaf, the wind whistling around the environment

_ An energy field, created by all life, connected to everything in the universe. On this small, nearly insignificant planet, a new power was found, and it would shape the entire galaxy. This energy field would have many names, but the one that it would ultimately be remembered by was,  _ **_The Force_ **

The scene changed, with the hooded men turning on each other, a bloody battle well under way

_ The humble origins of the Force were soon tainted by blood. Several of the scholars studying the Force used their knowledge to pursue power. Those that survived the bloody war that followed banded together to form the Je'daii Order. _

The hooded men sat around a campfire, their knees crossed and their palms turned towards the sky.

_ These Je’daii Order focused on maintaining a balance in the Force, between the dark and the light. In their eyes, those that fell too far into either side were dangerous, and were temporarily exiled until they found balance within themselves and the Force again. The Je’daii saw the horrors of the first Force War, and did everything in their power to ensure it never happened again. However, this did not last. _

A monk started screaming in rage. His eyes going from an emerald green to a bloody red. The scene changed, showing another monk. His blue eyes, full of life, started to dull in intensity, until all that was left was a gaping hole, devoid of any kind of life whatsoever.

_ A schism occurred in the Je’daii Order, between those too entrenched in the Light, and those who fell into the Dark. And thus, another Force War began, now between the split factions of the Je’daii Order. It was a long and hard war, but eventually, the light faction won, and chased away the dark faction off of Tython. These light sided Je’daii would leave Tython, finding a new home in Ossus, and would eventually join the Galactic Republic as defenders of peace. But what of the dark faction? What happened to them? _

Whitley was enthralled. He’d forgotten his irritation at the men before him, absorbing everything that was being told. He found this far more interesting than the Great War. He wanted to know more.


	3. Prologue III (What Do You Want Whitley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley is asked why he would want to learn how to use his new abilities.

“Let’s stop there, Hadrian, I think that’s enough history for today. To make a long story short for now, me and Hadrian were members of a branch of the dark faction of Je’daii that were exiled from Tython. They would carry many names, but the one that they would be remembered by for the future millenia was  _ Sith _ ”

Whitley had more questions than answers, at this point.

“What does this have to do with me?”

Samael looked towards Whitley, a neutral expression on his face.

“It has everything to do with you, Whitley.”

“How did yo-”

“While we were talking, my background programs inserted into this holocron were pulling up all the information it could about the planet me and Hadrian ended up in. Heh. I always did go above and beyond whenever I had a project to work on. Anyways, for all we know, you are the last of our kind, and I do not wish for our knowledge to go to waste. However, I will not force this upon you. I only wish to ask you one thing. What do you want in life, Whitley? What do you desire?”

Whitley, startled, looked around, almost hesitant. He started to remember something.

_ It was two years ago. Whitley had been pushed like never before. Playing the piano, studying economics, for hours and hours on end. It was too much for the 11 year old boy. He had threatened to leave the Mansion and the SDC, to become a Huntsman, just like Winter had, just like Weiss was already planning to, now that her Aura was unlocked. _

_ That was the first time Father had hit him, repeatedly. Jacques grabbed the boy and hauled him up. In a cold voice, he started to recite a verse _

_ “For it is in passing that you understand your hubris. Through this, you become a paragon of dishonor and condemnation for all to see. Finite at distance and bound to death, I bind your soul to me.” _

_ Whitley screamed _

It was months later when Whitley realized that Jacques had sealed his aura, binding Whitley to him forever. The path of a Huntsman, to independence from his family, was beyond him.

At least, that’s what he thought. Now...

Whitley replied to Samael’s question, in a low tone.

“I want….I want to be strong. I want the strength, the power, to control my own fate. To create my own path, away from the shackles placed on me from my family. I want the strength to never have to fear anything, or anyone, ever again.”

Samael smirked.

“A worthy goal, similar to those of my ancestors. If you desire the strength to control your fate, then kneel, and accept our tutelage.”

Whitley knelt. 

“From this moment forward, your training begins, but remember this, above all else. Me and Hadrian can only give you the tools and the knowledge we possess. The rest must come from you. Train as hard or as easy as you like, but keep in mind, no one ever became strong taking the easy path.”

The boulders in front of the holocron started shining, Sith Hieroglyphics appearing on the stone, before they parted ways, revealing a passage.

“Take our holocrons with you back to your home. Hadrian still has much to tell you about the history of the Sith. Come back to the cave when you are ready to begin your physical training.”

“Heh, I never had a student of mine actually appreciate my history lessons before. Maybe you and I will get along after all, brat.”

Whitley collected the holocrons, and started walking towards the exit. Whitley did not know what this new feeling was in his chest, but it felt good, like he finally had control.


	4. Prologue IV (The Acolyte)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end of the prologue, ladies and gents! However, there's still going to be much for Whitley to do before he can leave Atlas.

Whitley was able to find the exit of the cave rather quickly. To his surprise, the cave had a passageway that led to the cellar of the Schnee Mansion.

_ That’s pretty handy. At least I won’t have to walk so far. _

Whitley headed to his room immediately, he needed to hide the holocrons quickly, should anyone come and investigate. He also needed to replace his ruined clo-

Whitley stopped moving.

There was a mirror in front of him, showing something completely  _ wrong _ .

His eyes, once an ice blue, were now a red rimmed orange. His skin, once pale, was now the color of a ghost. His hands, once perfectly manicured, were blackened with frostbite. And there were scars, all over his body.

Whitley started to breath heavily once again. The rage was clouding his senses once more. His mother did this to him. Had turned him from a normal child to this deathly sick  _ thing _ . He started to clench his fist, fully intending on smashing the mirror.

Fortunately, the holocron popped back up before Whitley could do anything rash.

“Ah hell, almost forgot the most important part, brat. We can’t have you walking around, looking like a morgue victim. I will show you one of the most useful techniques in Sith Alchemy, known as the  _ Mask _ . This technique allows a Sith alchemist to reshape their appearance, altering the subject at the molecular level. Very little is beyond this technique. It is limited only by the craftsmanship of the user. Features, age, disfigurations. Hell, even species, can be concealed with the Mask. Thanks to its molecular nature, the technique lasts until it is altered, and a thorough medical examination will not reveal anything out of place, unlike the tell-tale scars of surgical alterations. Consider it your first lesson from me,  _ Acolyte _ . If you fail, you are not worthy of either my time nor Samael’s. Don’t worry about anyone barging in. I’ve put up a little spell of mine that will ward off anyone who thinks about coming into this room.”

**Hours Later**

Whitley was panting, out of breath. The morning sky had been replaced by dusk. It had taken an incredible amount of effort and patience, an agonizing amount of failures, but he had done it. He had created a Mask. His features, once looking like a ghoulish nightmare, had seemingly returned to normal. Hadrian was cackling with glee.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve taught someone with some  **real** talent! Ah, poor Zalek. He tried so hard to learn all I knew, but he was always more cut out to be a warrior than a sorcerer. Well, it’s been a long day, Acolyte. Best you get some proper food and rest now, because tomorrow, Samael is going to tear you to pieces.”

Whitley ears burned. It had been a long time sine he’d heard genuine praise from someone. “ _ How pathetic is that, that you latch onto a dead man when he starts complimenting your skills”  _ he thought _.  _ Whitley rubbed his eyes, exhaustion dawning on him, and his hunger crawling back in waves. When was the last time he’d ever gone this long without food? He couldn’t remember.

“How successful was your spell? Did anyone come to the door to get me?”

Hadrian’s smile dipped a little bit, almost regretful.

“I’m sorry to say that no one came close to the door. Not even to look for you after that little tumble you had. Tough crowd. You going to call your servants to fix you something to eat?”

Whitley fumed, a growl curling on the edge of his lips. He hastily put on his shirt and pants

“At this hour? Better to just make it on my own.”

“Ah, so the rich brat can cook? Color me surprised.”

Whitley scowled at his master. “It comes with the territory. I’ve learned not to trust or rely on anyone but myself, especially after what happened yesterday and today.”

Hadrian nodded. “Oh, I understand, Acolyte. Far more than you realize.”

Whitley put the holocrons in a floorboard underneath his bed. He started heading towards the kitchen.

“Don’t stay up too late, Acolyte. Keep that in mind.”

“I won’t. See you tomorrow, master.”

Whitley cracked some eggs, and started turning on the heater. Once he was finished cooking the eggs, he started to wonder. How did anyone not realize that he’d almost been killed? Was it because the window was open when he came in? Did no one hear his bones snap as he landed from the top floor? Whitley started to grasp the fork tightly, warping the metal. He didn’t care what it would take, he would take control of his life, one way or another.

**END OF PROLOGUE**


	5. Acolyte’s Training I (Mysteries and Tragedies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley gets a rather nasty surprise when he wakes up. As he heads to eat breakfast in preparation for his physical training, Whitley reminisces on some painful memories, and questions why no one came to help him when he was dying.

_ A 9 year old Whitley was walking around the mansion, when he suddenly heard someone sobbing. It almost sounded like… _

_ Mother? _

_ What happened now? She and Father had been arguing for some time, but after Winter left, it had gotten even worse. Even after a year, they were still at each other’s throats. Mother saw Winter’s self imposed exile from the family as a good thing, and wanted Weiss to do the same. Whitley felt betrayed. He had already been abandoned by one sister, and now his own mother wanted his other system to leave him too? All the same, Willow was his mother, and she shouldn’t cry, not when he could help her. He headed towards her room _

_ “Mother, are you alright? Do you need...help?” Whitley froze, a foreign smell pervading his nostrils. It was incredibly strong, so much so that his eyes started to water. Through his teary eyed squint, he was able to make out the faint outline of his mother. _

_ “Mother?” Willow froze, a bottle of some strange liquid in her hand. Her expression, carrying immense sadness, started to shift into something ugly. A snarl decorated her face. _

_ “You…” _

_ Whitley didn’t want to admit it, but mother was starting to scare him. _

_ “Mother, please. Do you need help? I can call a serv-” _

_ “ _ **_I DON’T WANT ANYTHING FROM YOU!_ ** _ ” _

_ Whitley fell back, startled. Willow either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She continued to scream at the frightened boy. _

_ “ _ **_YOU’RE BOTH THE SAME! YOU VIEW US ALL AS YOUR TOOLS! YOU DON’T CARE ONE BIT ABOUT US! I HATE YOU! BOTH OF YOU! IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU BOTH DIED!_ ** _ ” _

_ She surged forward in a manic burst of energy, hurling her bottle at Whitley. It grazed past, barely touching his cheek. Whitley turned and bolted out, shutting the door behind him. The madwoman continued to hurl objects at the door. Whitley called for help. He didn’t want to go into the room and face her again. _

_ No one came. _

Whitley woke up, feeling somewhat groggy. The morning sun peaked out over the cold winter air of Atlas. He rubbed his blackened fingers over his ey-

_ No _

_ How _

He thought the Mask had fixed this.

Hadrian said that the Mask would last until it was altered!

The Sith Holcron started glowing, and Whitley rushed to open it. Hadrian popped out, a stern look on his face.

“Oh dear, I was afraid about that.”

Whitley wasn’t in the mood to dance around this topic. Not now.

“You said that the Mask would last until it was altered. Why is it, then, that my disguise fell apart when I woke up!”

Hadrian wagged his finger.

“Patience, acolyte. It will do you no good to yell at the man you’re trying to learn from. I’ve restrained myself this far, but push me again, and I’ll start using my more brutal methods of discipline. Maybe a little shock therapy would be enough to keep you in line?”

Whitley wanted to retort back, but he could see that his master wasn’t joking around, not this time. He palmed his face in frustration.

Hadrian continued to speak “As I was saying, the reason that I felt this would happen has nothing to do with the Mask failing, it’s just a matter of your inexperience. You are talented, yes, but full mastery of the Mask technique, even for accomplished Sith Lords, is an extremely difficult feat. For an acolyte to be able to put a full Mask on for as long as you did is astounding of itself.”

Whitley took a few breaths to calm himself. He turned to Hadrian, wondering what the best solution to his problem was now.

“How long did it last, master?”

Hadrian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, from the change I detected late in the night, your Mask lasted about...4 hours. I might have a better solution to your problem than constantly trying to utilize a full Mask.”

Whitley sat down, ready to listen to his teacher’s advice.

Hadrian continued “My advice is, try to create a Mask, but only for the largest bits. Your head, your chest, your arms, maybe even your legs. Leave the small bits that can’t be seen in your regular clothing, like feet and hands, out of the Mask.”

Whitley nodded. He took off his nightdress and got off the bed to meditate. He focused on a vision of himself that he wanted the world to see, but this time, he left the image of himself without his feet or his hands. He felt his power leaving him once more, but the feeling was much less draining than before. Whitley opened his eyes, and looked into the mirror.

His face, chest, arms, and legs had returned from the ghoulish white to a somewhat regular pale color. His eyes had gone from the red-tinted orange to ice blue. His feet, and... _ Whitley Jr _ , were still the same pasty white, while his hands were still blackened with third degree frostbite. Whitley tore his expression away from the mirror and hastily put on his clothes. As he was tugging on his shirt, Whitley paused. He couldn’t stuff his hands in his pockets all day, he needed something to put over it. Did he still have some leather gloves lying around? Whitley started ransacking his room, looking for them. 10 minutes later, and he’d had no success.

“Brothers dammit, why is it that when I immediately start looking for something, it’s never there?!” Whitley exclaimed, his frustration mounting.

Hadrian shook his head. “Teenagers”, he muttered exasperatedly. He weaved his hand, and in front of Whitley’s eyes, an old tie he’d thrown onto his bed transformed into a pair of black leather gloves.

Whitley was amazed. “W-what? How did you do that? Samael said you both were just holograms! And you said the Force was just an energy field that connected living things!”

Hadrian smirked. “Just like Samael put some extra goodies in his holocron, I put some in mine. That little cave didn’t create itself, you know. As for the other bit, well, all I’ll say is that I’ve always had access to abilities well beyond the average Sith Sorcerer”

Whitley frowned. “Is it possible for you to teach m-”

Hadrian cut him off.

“ **No** . The power I wielded, that I continue to wield, was only available to me through my genetics. I’m fairly certain that the society which gave me these abilities has destroyed itself by now, good riddance.”

“You sound almost pleased at that, master.”

“I feel like I’ve said too much already. I’ll end this conversation with one last tidbit of information for you. I was never welcome among them. They despised my existence, and the feeling was rather mutual.”

Hadrian snarled, his expression full of hatred “ **Idiots and cowards, the whole damned lot of them!** ”

Hadrian disappeared, leaving Whitley with even more questions about the enigmatic madman that was his teacher. He shrugged. It wasn’t his business. Perhaps one day, Hadrian would tell Whitley the full story. As much as he wanted to avoid the dining room, the kitchen would most likely be fully staffed by now. He put on the gloves, and started heading to eat breakfa-.

Dammit, he forgot to brush his teeth.

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

Whitley headed to the main dining room. On the way, he caught snippets of conversation from the servants.

“So Miss Schnee went on a trip with Winter yesterday? Oh, thank goodness the elder one has her head on straight. Have you heard of the things Jacques and the youngest one have been doing? Ugh. That boy is not right in the head. Mark my words, he’s going to turn out just like his father.”

His fists suddenly started to tighten.

“Oh yes, I’ve seen it before. The way he trails behind his father, almost like a lapdog.”

“Come on, now. Every boy on Remnant wants to impress their father. It’s not a terrible thing.”

“You haven’t been around here long, dearie. There’s some real sinister shite going on in this cursed place. You want my advice? If you’re not as desperate for a paycheck as we are, you should just get out, now. I thank the Brothers that the ladies of this family have started to wise up. It’s unfortunate that the youngest one refuses to see it, and I fear it’s too late for him to see it now.”

_ Hours after the incident with his father, the 11 year old Whitley woke up in his bed. He felt empty, like he’d lost something vital to himself. _

_ “Whitley” a commanding voice called out. He turned, shocked to see his father sitting at the end of his bed. _

_ “Whitley, are you feeling alright, son?” Jacques asked, his voice filled with concern. _

_ “Father? W….what happened?” _

_ “What happened was a mistake, my boy. I lost my temper at you. I was under a great deal of stress at the time, and I took it out on you. I apologize, son. I never should’ve done it. I promise, it won’t happen again.” _

_ Whitley was young, but he wasn’t a fool. He could remember in vivid detail what his father just did. It wasn’t a terrible act that was done in the heat of the moment, it was deliberate.  _

_ But…. _

_ He wanted to believe it. Gods, he wanted to believe it.  _

_ His mother despised him now. Winter had abandoned him, and Weiss, like always, was following in her sister’s footsteps. All he had left was his father. Father could be mean and cruel when Whitley went against him, but Father was kind and joyful when Whitley followed his wishes. _

_ So he ignored the bells ringing in his head, warning him of the danger of trusting this man again, and smiled. _

_ “It’s alright, father. I’m alright, aren’t I? We can put this behind us.” _

_ Father clapped his shoulder. “That’s my boy!” _

_ Father stood up, and started heading to the door. _

_ “Whitley.” he said, turning to his son. _

_ “Don’t forget, no matter what happens, we are always on the same team.” _

_ Ever since that day, Whitley followed his father’s wishes, no matter how demanding they were. _

_ Ever since that day, Whitley kept an permanent transport access pass underneath the floorboards _

They didn’t know a damn thing.

How  _ dare _ those peasants judge him for his actions, as if they could ever hope to understand why he followed his father.

Whitley was about to come out of the corner he had hidden in, ready to do...something, anything to get them to shut up. However, Whitley was able to calm himself down at the last moment. It would do no good to assault the servants now. The last thing he needed was to draw more attention to himself. The servants walked past him, not realizing his presence.

Whitley finally reached the main hall, where he spotted Klein coming towards him.

Ugh. Klein was a decent enough butler, but he always put his attention on Weiss. Whatever bitterness he felt over that had long since evaporated. He just did his best to ignore the oaf, which was rather easy whenever Weiss was in the mansion. Not so much whenever she left.

“Ah, Master Schnee, I was just about to go to your room to wake you! You’re up rather early.”

Whitley was in no mood for pleasantries now. Whatever desire to eat had evaporated. Now, he just wanted some answers. Weiss had gone away with Winter yesterday, so where did Father go? What did Mother do? And how come no one noticed him almost die yesterday?

“Where is Father, Klein.” Whitley stated, his voice firm.

Klein’s smile seemed to drop a fraction, but he perked up again.

“He went to Vale, Master Schnee. An important, in-person meeting. He should be back in a few days.”

Well, that scratched Father off the list of questions. What about Klein?

“Klein, yesterday, did you hear...anything out of the ordinary? Did you see something suspicious?”

Klein frowned, trying to remember “To my knowledge, Master Schnee, the only thing that happened was that your Mother was intoxicated, yet again. Although...hmm. I remember Mrs. Schnee was calling out for Winter’s help. That was rather odd, if I do say so myself, but Winter said that whatever issue was going on with Mrs. Schnee had been cleared up.”

Mother had called Winter? What the hell was going on? Did….did she tell Winter, what she did? If so, why was there no search party? Why did no one come to save him from the cold?

**_Why was he now cursed with these inhuman features that he had to constantly hide?!_ **

Whitley heard a small crackling sound. He looked to his arm, and was shocked.

His albino skin, confined to his hands thanks to the Mask, were spreading slowly across his arms.

Whitley turned around, tugging his sleeves downwards. He’d be damned if he showed that sickly visage to anyone in this house.

“Master Schnee, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Klein! Just a little cold, that’s all.”

“Do you require a jacket, Master Schnee?”

Whitley shook his head. He needed answers, dammit! He was about to head to his mother’s room when...

**Growl**

Whitley sighed. He had to remember his priorities today. The mystery of why no one came to his aid could wait. He did not wish to disappoint his master in the physical trials that would occur soon. If he had to choose between his goal of getting strong enough to break his chains, or understand why no one came to help him, then it was no contest.

“I’m heading to the dining room, Klein.”

“Oh, that’s excellent! I’ll come and-”

“ **Alone** , Klein.”

Klein’s smile shrunk again, but he didn’t question his young charge’s command. “Very well, sir.”

Whitley started to head towards the table. He would not fail Samael’s trials, this he swore.


	6. Sneak Peek: This Woman Is Mad (In A Good Way) I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starkiller meets a rather interesting character in a club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At times, my mind gets ahead of myself, and I have a hard time keeping patient, so I let off some steam by writing down the stuff that I planned ahead. I decided to call them Sneak Peeks, since they’re sneak peeks of where the story will be headed. These are just placeholders for those that are interested. When I get around to the actual chapter in the actual arc, I’ll put the whole chapter again, but for now, for those interested, enjoy!

Starkiller wasn’t really a fan of the club scene. Overpriced drinks, loud music, clumsy idiots pretending that their motions could be classified as “dancing”, and drunk patrons trying to either seduce you or pick a fight with you. If he came here without his Mask, at least he didn’t have to worry about the seducing part. If it wasn’t for the fact that Junior had some vital information that he needed, Starkiller would’ve spent the evening in the Tuskon’s Bookstore or Cafe Alp rather than this high-end nightmare.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked.

Starkiller waved his hand noncommittally, staring at the TV in the corner showcasing the news. “Just give me something that doesn’t have any alcohol. Surprise me.”

The bartender shrugged. “Alright, then. Maybe a Strawberry Sunrise will get ya to lighten up a little bit. Usually I put some gin in that, but I can leave it out for this one”

Starkiller shrugged. “Sounds good.”

A stranger suddenly decided to take the spot next to him. “Make that two, Junior, on me! Make sure mine’s got the alcohol”

Hmm. A woman, by the sound of her voice.

Starkiller was not amused. He turned to the girl, fully intent on giving her a piece of his mind.

“Excuse me, miss, but I am perfectly capable of-”

Starkiller’s words got stuck in his throat.

The woman in front of him was, in all honesty, inhumanely beautiful. Long golden hair flowed from her back. Her eyes burned with a passionate fire, lavender orbs twinkling in amusement. Her long, curvy legs could have him staring for days, and her chest was -  _ Don’t even go there, Whitley _ .

It suddenly made Starkiller self conscious about his sickly orange eyes and ghoulish skin underneath the Mask. Where was that heat coming from? Oh, right, his face. He was blushing. He tried to say something, anything.

“Oh.”, was all he could manage.

The girl turned towards him and smiled. He could swear the heat on his face increased tenfold.

“Well, hello there! Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before! Name’s Yang Xiao Long. Long and unwieldy, but I don’t need a name to make all the boys fall for me.”

Starkiller coughed into his fist, doing his best to hide his blush. “I can see why. You’re very pretty, Miss Xiao Long.”

Yang laughed. Starkiller frowned. He did not appreciate being laughed at. “Is something wrong?” he asked pointedly.

Yang waved her hand “No, no. Ahahaha. It’s just... ahhh. You’re pretty blunt, aren’t you? And seriously, Miss? You’re making me feel like an old lady here.”

Starkiller relaxed. “Well, dear old dad raised me to be a gentleman. I’ve been told my bluntness is my best feature. It’s all I got going for me, after all”

Yang shook her head. “Self deprecation isn’t cute, buddy. Don’t put yourself down like that. I know a lot of dudes who’d kill to have a face like yours”

Starkiller looked at the glass Junior set down, the tanned reflection of his alter ego, Gabriel Hord, staring back at him. Another lie to add onto the pile. Whitley Schnee, Gabriel Hord, Starkiller. All those identities, clashing violently against each other. How he hadn’t gone insane from this madness, he didn’t know.

Starkiller shook his head. “Well, if you insist.”

Yang smiled at him. “So, cutie, what’s your name?”

“Gabriel. Gabriel Hord", Starkiller replied back, taking a swig of the Strawberry Sunrise. Huh. That didn’t taste too bad.

“Gabriel, huh? Interesting name. Don’t think I’ve heard that one before. So, what brings you here, Gabe?”

Starkiller stared back at her, incredulous. “Gabe?”

Yang smiled. “I give a nickname to all my friends. Who knows, maybe after tonight, I’ll find a better one for ya.”

Starkiller chuckled. Maybe he should pop down to The Club more often.

“Heh. Well, I’m definitely not here for the music. I swear, I could compose something better in this genre in my sleep, and the only musical experience I have is with the piano.”

Yang laughed. It was rather melodious, Starkiller thought. 

Shit, he had it bad, didn’t he.

“Ah, yep. I’m honestly half tempted to punch the DJ. So, if not for the terrible music, what’re you here for?”

“Not letting this go, are you, Miss Xiao Long?”

Starkiller sighed “I came here looking for information. A friend of mine is interested in what’s going on behind the scenes in Vale. He asked me to check it out for him.”

Yang frowned. “Couldn’t he have just come here himself?”

Starkiller chuckled. “Trust me, if he came here himself, the whole crowd here would be shrieking and running in fear. He’s not exactly a looker, so he prefers to interact with the world as little as possible. That’s why he sent me.”

Yang winced. “Oof. Poor dude! Does he seriously look that bad?”

“Yang, I don’t want to badmouth my friend here, but if he approached you, I guarantee you’d confuse him with either a Grimm, a Ghoul, or an unholy mixture of both.”

Yang shook her head. “Ouch! Well, in that case, here’s to your friend, in the hopes of his luck turning around one day! To...”

Starkiller couldn’t stop the smile that graced his lips. “To Starkiller. May he hope to find peace.” He downed the rest of the Strawberry Sunrise

Yang followed suit. “To Starkiller! May he hope to find peace!” She set the glass down.

“Well, you know, I was gonna look for some info too. Had a reservation and everything, buttt I think it’d be best if you go first.”

Starkiller bowed his head. “You have my thanks, Miss. Xiao Long.”

Well, he had delayed enough. Time for him to get what he came for. He bought the bartender's attention.

“Mr. Hei Xiong, I’m told that you have some information you could offer me.”

The bartender looked at him, confused.

“You want the boss? He’d kinda busy today, kid-”

“Mr. Xiong, I am many things. A fool is not one of them. Now, I’m looking for some vital information. I have Lien, I am willing to pay for your services.”

Hei Xiong looked to Starkiller with a scowl. “And why should Mr. Xiong help you, kid? Besides the Lien?”

Starkiller smirked. “Because a certain pale skinned friend of ours said that the Malachite Twins, and thus, Junior, owed him a favor for saving their hides, remember?”

Hei’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re here on behalf of Starkiller?”

“Yes, I am. He would’ve come today, of course, but given his unique physiology, well… the last thing Starkiller wished to do was inconvenience your business.”

Hei nodded. “Yeah. That’s a damn shame. I’d have liked to have a drink with him.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to him.”

Hei crossed his arms. “So, what info does Starkiller want from old Junior, huh?”

“Roman Torchwick was a criminal who spent most of his career chasing after grandiose scores. Why, then, does Torchwick go from those large scale heists to small scale dust robberies? It doesn’t fit his M.O. Recently, Starkiller’s come across a rather interesting character, one that helped Roman escape from one of his robberies.” 

Starkiller put down a picture in front of Junior, showing a black outline of a woman in a Bullhead.

“Starkiller feels this mystery woman may be the one who pushed Roman to start robbing Dust. He’s curious about her identity, and was wondering if you’d be willing to help. He’d be willing to do it himself, but he’s lately found himself rather...preoccupied.”

Junior took the picture, a frown marring his features. “Hmm, if this woman’s the one that’s got Torchwick scared, then she’s no joke. Roman wasn’t just a thief, he was an incredible fighter. Former Huntsman, believe it or not. Some of my boys have been killed off, too, after Roman’s robbery was foiled. So, tell me, if this mystery woman is this dangerous, why should I stick my neck out for Starkiller?”

“Because, Junior, you owe the Malachite’s lives to Starkiller, and yours to Roman.”

Junior blinked “How did you-”

“A bank heist went wrong years ago, you were just a small runt in the Xiong family that had been roped into the plan made by the newcomer. You were shot, rather fatally, and the rest of your team took the score and left you to die, all except one. One man would throw away his bag to rush to you. He picked you up, and with his help, you were able to evade the police, as well as avoid bleeding out. That was the first heist of Roman Torchwick, the Fleeca Bank Job.”

Junior snorted in disbelief. “Fuckin hell. Honestly, does Starkiller  _ really _ need my help with this if he can gather this on his own?”

Starkiller nodded his head. His psychometry could only stretch so far. He needed someone who actually had the proper skills and connections to look into this.

Junior sighed. “You’re right, kid. I owe Roman and Starkiller, big time. I’ll see if I can get my contacts to look into this woman.”

Starkiller nodded, then slid a disk to Junior. “What’s this?” Junior asked

“A distress beacon. Should this woman, or anyone associated with her come after you, then click the button on the disk three times, and Starkiller will drop whatever he’s doing to come help you.”

Junior smiled. “Heh, kid thought of everything, didn’t he. Tell him he better come down here for that drink soon, or I’ll start hunting him down.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Just make sure to close the Club first.”

Starkiller stood up. His work here was done. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss Xiao Long. I hope we will meet each other again.”

Yang smiled. “Don’t worry, Gabe. I’m sure we’ll see each other real soon.”

After using the restroom, Starkiller headed towards the Club’s exit. Just as he was opening the door, he heard a scream

Starkiller turned back, and saw a rather haunting sight. Junior was getting his...Junior, crushed by Yang’s fist. It was only then that Starkiller noticed her Shotgun Gauntlets.

Huntress. Shit. This could go badly real quick. If Junior suffered serious harm, it would impede his investigation. If Yang didn’t control herself, she’d find herself facing significant fines, jail time, and lawsuits. This  _ was _ a legal establishment, and she  _ was _ harassing the owner.

Starkiller rushed to his car to change his clothes. Time to put Gabriel Hord away for a while, and let his true face show.

**POV Switch**

Yang smiled. Talking to a cute (albeit probably depressed) guy, getting a nice buzz, and about to get into a fight. This was what she lived for! Junior, seemingly letting his guard down, bent down to kiss her. That was when Yang struck.

Or at least, that was when she was supposed to have struck.

Her arm was bent, in the middle of the motion of throwing the punch, but it was refusing to move.

Actually, every part of her body was refusing to move.

Then, she felt it, a sudden yanking motion on her back. She crashed through the glass doors of the Club, rolling to a stop in front of a man. The man stepped over her, standing between the doors that she had just crashed through.

“Well well well, what do we have here? A Huntress-in-Training, trashing a local establishment? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Abuse of power, much?”

Yang got up, scanning her new opponent.

Fucking hell, he was ugly.

Ghoulishly pale skin, red-rimmed yellow eyes, and blackened, burned hands. Other than his hideous features, he was dressed rather sharply, wearing a red formal blazer with a hood attached to it, black formal pants and black shoes. His black shirt top few buttons were open, exposing a large scar.

Yang fumed. She hadn’t come this far for that information only to lose now. She started walking towards the man.

“Listen here, ugly. If you don’t get outta my way in 5 seconds, I’m gonna…”

Yang was forcibly pushed away. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, Junior here is doing a rather important errand for me. I’d hate for him to get sidetracked now. Besides that, you should be thanking me! Any longer and Junior would’ve had grounds to sue you till you reached retirement age. Hell, he might even start drawing the papers up right now! You did start crushing his balls, without his consent, and forced him to almost kiss you on top of that. A little bit of work and he could have you put down as a registered Sex Offender. Just stop digging the hole any further. I’m sure I can still convince him to change his min-.”

Yang got bored of this asshole 2 minutes ago. She swung her fist at him.

The ugly bastard in front of her sidestepped her swing. Yang then felt a vicious kick hit her in the back. She stumbled and fell on the steps of the club. Yang found herself getting forcibly shoved back again.

Her eyes started to glow red. This bastard was gonna die.

The ugly bastard sighed. “Well, it seems that I won’t be able to get through your thick skull until that boiling blood of yours calms down.”

The man started to put on a pair of brass knuckles.

“It’s been months since I’ve had a decent fight!  **BRING IT!** ” He roared

Yang smirked, and then charged.


	7. Acolyte’s Training II (P.E Sucks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley is thrown through an unfortunate wringer in the form of physical activity. Afterwards, he realizes he has now has to deal with his first obstacle in his goal.

_ Whitley didn’t remember his grandfather that well. _

_ His early memories were mostly spent in the warm embrace of his mother and his sisters. His father was a different man, or at least, he put on the facade better back then. His parents would smile at each other, almost as if they were sharing a wonderful little secret back and forth. When he was old enough to be seen by his grandfather, Nicholas Schnee was already well on his way to the next journey. All the poor old man could do was pat his head reassuringly. _

_ Within the next year, he died. Winter and Weiss were crying over their loss. Whitley was too young then to understand why. _

_ He would soon realize that his grandfather’s death changed everything. _

The cave opened up once again. Whitley came in, holding the holocrons. He wondered what Samael had up his sleeve for his physical training. As Whitley walked in, he was taken aback at the difference from what he’d seen earlier to what he was seeing now. 

“What the hell?”

What was once a rocky cave was now something straight out of a “Villain’s Lair”. There were wide spaces, clearly designed for renovation. There was a gym, with training mats and basic exercise equipment. There was a waterfall that he  _ swore _ wasn’t there before when he’d first fallen in. On top of all this, glowing blood red hieroglyphics were scattered all over every rocky inch of the cave. Whitley had no doubt that Hadrian was to blame for all this. Whitley headed towards the exercise area.

After Whitley set the holocrons down, Samael and Hadrian came forth. 

“Master, I’m curious to know, were you responsible for all this? From what I remember, this was just a regular cave when I fell in here.”

Hadrian chuckled. “I told you, Acolyte, my abilities, even when constrained to this holocron, extend well beyond the average Sith Sorcerer. What you see now is the result of a little branch of sorcery called Transfiguration. Rather handy, isn’t it? Shame that the only limit it has is that it can only work on organic materials, which is a damn shame, if you ask me. This place could’ve used a few computers, or some better equipment, or really anything with some kind of chip in it.”

Whitley stared at the cave, thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could take care of that issue? This would make a great hideout.”

Samael rubbed his chin.

“Hmm. It’s something worth thinking about. We’ll come back to that later.” Samael looked over Whitley with a critical eye. 

“I see you and I have our work cut out for us. How often do you physically work out?”

Whitley shrugged. “Not much. Never saw any reason to.”

Samael shook his head. “Everything I could teach you about the art of a lightsaber would be useless if you cannot properly hold one.”

Whitley was confused. He’d never heard of that weapon before.“Hold on, a lightsaber? What’s that?”

Samael looked at his student, like there was something wrong with him, before he shook his head. “Right, right. Different galaxy, no space travel, and I interrupted Hadrian before he got to that part of our history.” 

“I could recite it to him now. He was rather appreciative of the last lesson I gave him.”

Samael shook his head. “No need. I know how much you hate skipping ahead when it comes to teaching something. Well, considering that weapons were my area of expertise, and the fact that science was a passion of mine, it would be for the best if I explained lightsabers to you.”

Holographic images started to pop up in front of Whitley. One showed two men jumping towards each other. They were both holding hilts that seemed to carry a beam of energy. One was blue, the other red.

“The lightsaber is the signature weapon of both the Jedi and the Sith. Those unfamiliar with our ways would refer to them as simple  _ laser swords _ ...” At this, Samael shuddered visibly. He continued with his lecture.

“...but to both the Jedi and the Sith, our lightsabers were our lives. I won’t go too much into detail, not now, but all you need to know is this. A lightsaber consists of a blade, made of pure plasma. This plasma is emitted from the hilt and suspended in a force containment field. Due to the weightlessness of plasma and the strong gyroscopic effect generated by it, lightsabers require a great deal of strength and dexterity to wield, and it is extremely difficult—and dangerous—for the untrained to attempt to use. If you wish to learn about how to wield the signature weapon of our order, if you wish to grow strong, then you must train in body, mind, and power. Neglecting any one of those aspects will only lead to failure.”

Samael clapped his hands. “Hadrian can tackle the last two aspects of your training. I’m here to focus on the first. Your body.” At this, Samael rubbed his chin again.

“But first… Hadrian, give this boy some proper workout clothes, will you? He’ll sweat like a pig in this getup.”

Hadrian waved his hand nocommitedly “Done.”

Whitley’s clothes were replaced with a blood red short sleeve workout shirt and black track pants. He sputtered in a mixture of embarrassment and outrage. “Hey, what the hell! That was my favorite outfit!”

Hadrian chuckled, turning to Whitley.“Favorite? Acolyte, I saw your wardrobe. You have ten outfits that all look like the one I just took the liberty of replacing for you. Besides, no one wants to work out in those clothes. It would be far more merciful to drop dead. Anyways, I won’t disturb you any further.” He retreated back to the holocron.

Samael crossed his arms. “Time we began your training. Acolyte, do a push up.”

Whitley stared at him, confused.

“A...what?”

Samael palmed his face. “Homeschooled. Dammit, of course.”

His outfit changed from the heavy armor he was wearing previously to workout gear almost identical to Whitley’s

**8 Hours Later**

Whitley was panting in exhaustion. In the span of eight hours, he’d gone from knowing almost nothing about conditioning to being put through push ups, sit ups, burpees, planks, and on and on and on.

“You...bloody….argh.” Whitley couldn’t even muster the energy to properly curse his master. Samael was carrying a vicious smirk all the while.

“Hey hey hey, what’s this now? Are you really going to let this old man beat you in a workout? For shame, Acolyte. For shame.”

“Fucking...hologram…” Whitley gasped. Brothers, he had his work cut out for him, didn’t he? Hadrian chose that moment to pop out.

“Well well well, I told you, Acolyte. I told you Samael was going to tear you to pieces, didn’t I? Honestly, my favorite moment was when you had him hold that plank for 5 minutes. He looked like he wanted to cry.”

Samael chuckled. “Ok, ok, that’s enough for today. My chronometer is telling me that it’s evening now, so go back home, freshen up, and in two days, we’ll come back here. Tomorrow would be the perfect time for Hadrian to train you in a few Force abilities.”

Whitley nodded. He stood up, shakily, and asked something that’d been stuck in the back of his head for a while.

“Master, this physical training...how long will we do it?”

Samael rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmm. A month would be my recommendation. As I said, a lightsaber is no joke of a weapon. You must first learn to wield a blade, and before you learn to wield a blade, you must be physically powerful enough to swing it without dislocating your arms. Once that’s done, we can get to the real fun stuff.”   
  


A month. A month may have been fine to anyone else, but to Whitley, it wasn’t. His mother had just tried to kill him. The servants seemed to despise him along with his mother, and he’d almost died. He wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances. He had to find a way to accelerate his training. Whitley bowed, then headed towards the exit, taking the holocrons with him. A mental conversation struck up with the two holograms before they were temporarily silenced.

_ “ _ **_You’ve just lit up a fire under his arse. Nice work, Samael._ ** _ ” _

**_“I’ve told you before, Hadrian, you can give a student the tools and resources needed to succeed, but in the end, it is worthless without effort on their part. Let us see how our student handles this obstacle in his path.”_ **


	8. Acolyte’s Training III (The Sith Species)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian goes more into detail about the history of the Sith. Whitley cannot help but be enthralled by it.

Whitley sighed in relief. Today had been rather straining, and it was only going to get worse from here. He’d figure out a way to accelerate his training later. For now, he’d just enjoy the hot shower. 

Fifteen minutes later, Whitley stepped out. It was only 6 p.m, and he had the rest of the evening to himself. Whitley decided to head to the kitchen and grab something to eat. It was a good thing he told Klein that he would be busy the whole day today.

_“Klein, I have a great deal of work to accomplish today before Father comes back. I’d rather be left alone. If I need food or anything, I’ll ring up a servant myself. Understood?”_

_Klein nodded, then left to go back to his duties._

Whitley was able to nab some bread and caviar before heading to his room. As he was polishing up his improvised meal, Hadrian popped up from his holocron.

“We have some time to kill before you head off to the realm of dreams, Acolyte. Why don’t we use it to continue where we left off? I know you wish to learn more.”

Whitley nodded. He couldn’t help it, he was completely hooked onto this. He had so many questions. What happened to the dark sided faction of Je’daii? Where did Hadrian and Samael factor into all this?

Hadrian cleared his throat, and then, images began to appear again. Unlike Samael’s holographic images, these felt far more real, like illusions that surrounded Whitley, showing the events that unfolded as Hadrian spoke of them.

The scene shifted and distorted, before showing a group of red skinned humanoids, brandishing swords and spears

_Before we talk about the Dark Jedi that fled Tython, we must talk about a different group. They existed long before the founding of the Jedi Order and the discovery of the Dark Side. This group was a species, known only as “Sith”. The Sith species began to coalesce as a society millennia before the Force Wars of Tython. They immersed their culture in rites and lore of the dark side. Warriors and fighters to the core, they repelled many invasions of their homeworld, a planet known as Korriban. However, there came a time when the Sith were under attack by a threat that was completely different to any enemy they had fought before._

A massive Sith with charcoal skin was donning some heavy armor. After he finished putting on the armor, he grabbed a massive battle axe and started walking away.

_The Sith would’ve faced defeat and a future in slavery, if it were not for their leader. One Sith who united the disparate nations of the Sith, and hailed as the sole leader of his people. A Sith who not only routed the invaders, but started to conquer their lands for his people._

The Sith, once fighting each other, were yelling in jubilation, as the massive Sith sat down on a golden throne.

_His name was Adas, and the Sith believed that he was their God, chosen to lead them to victory until the end of time. They hailed him as the_ **_Sith’ari_ ** _, their_ **_Overlord_ ** _. His reign had already lasted over 300 years before the invasion, and it seemed like it would reign for 300 more. Sadly, Adas would not survive that long. He was betrayed by his friend, Yshaar Kael._

Where the brilliant towers and smiling people once stood was now a wasteland. Bodies littered the entire city.

_The Sith, deprived of the overlord that united them, fell back into their old habits. They reignited the Civil Wars, and many Sith Lords, who once swore fealty to Adas, turned on each other in the effort to gain the power and title of Sith’ari. It culminated into the most horrific act of this war, when Dathka Graush, a madman even by the standards of the Sith, had his army of undead Sith destroy most of the cities of Korriban. This led to the backwards primitive cultural regression of the Sith species. The remaining Sith that had not regressed to this point left Korriban and moved their center of government and culture to the planet of Ziost._

Sand started shifting around, slowly burying the terrible sight before Whitley’s eyes. A tribal group of Sith appeared, sitting over a fire.

_Korriban, once a shining example of power, wealth, and culture of the Sith species, now became their tomb world for their fallen leaders. It seemed that those left in Korriban would lead a doomed existence, left to suffer by their own people, slowly forgetting how powerful they once were._

A ship appeared out of nowhere, touching down nearby. A group of hooded humanoids in dark robes walked out

_But that was not to be. Those that had been exiled by the Jedi Order, and left to wander the stars, found a new home in this tomb world._

The Sith approached these hooded humanoids, brandishing spears and blades, ready to kill. One of the hooded humanoids made a grasping motion with his hand, before the leader of the Sith group started clutching his throat, fruitlessly gasping for air. The leader clawed for air for only a few seconds, before an audible **_SNAP_ **was heard. The Sith leader fell to a heap, dead. The Sith group looked at the hooded humanoids, shocked, before throwing their weapons down and bowing low.

_The Sith were shocked by the dark side abilities of the fallen Je’daii. They proclaimed these new arrivals to their world as_ **_Jen'jidai_ ** _, or_ **_Dark Jedi_ ** _in the language of the Sith._

The hooded humanoids faded away. In their place stood men and women clad in armored robes of gold. Lightning, fire, and red energy flowed through their hands, their eyes glowing various colors of orange, red, and yellow.

_The Jen'jidai forged an alliance with the Sith ruler's second in command and used that relationship to overthrow the King and claim dominion over the Sith. The Jen’jidai adopted the title "_ **_Lords of the Sith_ ** _" and their ruler came to be known as the_ **_Jen'ari_ ** _, or_ **_Dark Lord of the Sith_ ** _._

Behind the group of men and women, a red-black hexagon started to form. Starships zoomed past. Red lightning flashed, highlighting this new symbol.

_And thus, the Sith Order...was born._


	9. Interlude I (The Master’s Past Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley realizes that his master desperately needs someone to talk to about his past, so he volunteers to listen. Whatever he was expecting to hear, it was never this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reviewer of my story, X3Runner, gave me a few great ideas to incorporate into this story. He's over on Fanfiction.net. I just wanted to give him a shoutout because he's been a great dude, and I wanted to thank him. This time, I wanted to take a break from Whitley, and put more focus into his masters, Samael Hord and Hadrian Kallig. With that said, enjoy!

Whitley yawned, rising up from the floor. His blackened hands rubbing over his eyes.

Wait a minute….

Did he...did he fall asleep, listening to Hadrian’s lecture? How strange. He must’ve been more tired from yesterday’s workout than he realized. He slowly got up from the floor, ready to reapply the Mask. Hadrian appeared from the holocron in front of him.

“Rise and shine, sleeping deformity! We have a great deal to accomplish today!”

Whitley glared at his master. “Just...give me a minute, please.” Whitley went to the bathroom, turning on the faucet. He splashed some water into his eyes.

“I remember you telling me about the Sith species and the origins of the Sith Order. Did I fall asleep after that? I don’t remember anything that happened afterwards.”

Hadrian shook his head. “Right as I was about to begin, your eyes started to droop. I was a little frustrated and was going to wake you up rather forcefully, but Samael chose that moment to wake up and told me of his plan. It was rather ingenious, and I have to admit, I am a little angry that I did not think of it at first, but basically, Samael had me break into your sleeping mind and have me impart my lecture from there. Not only are we now able to multitask, it’s places much less of a strain on my powers, which will do wonders for your training! Ah, the miracles of the scientific mind.”

Whitley gazed at his master, confused. “You sound like you admire him.”

Hadrian glanced upwards, his manic grin replaced by a concentrated frown. “Samael always was an interesting man. Always fancied himself more as a scientist and inventor, rather than a warrior, and yet, his strength and his study of the lightsaber was second to none. Believe it or not, when he was your age, he was primed to becoming a member of the Imperial Science Bureau, the youngest in several centuries. That’s when everything changed.”

Hadrian sighed, turning to his apprentice.

“He lost his entire family to the Jedi. They came to his ancestral home, and wiped the Hords out. Men, women, children, it did not matter to those emotionless drones. Their duty commanded them to destroy the Dark Side at any cost, and so they did, with a sickening proudness. Samael only survived through sheer luck, but not without taking a lightsaber through the chest. His father’s closest friend, Darth Marr, begged Samael to try and continue with his career, but Samael wouldn’t hear it. He travelled the galaxy, trained every day, just to learn the different ways on how to kill a Jedi. He studied under various teachers and learned their techniques. Hell, at 14, Samael even went as far as to learn how to use various firearms to use against a Jedi. Should’ve seen the way he handled a blaster. Oh, the look on poor Agetol’s face.” Hadrian chuckled.

Whitley sat down. It was obvious his master hadn’t meant to share so much, but it was clear that he needed to talk about it.

“Master, do you wish to talk? About...your past? Your friends?”

Hadrian sighed again, then turned towards his apprentice.

“I suppose...an hour or two wouldn’t hurt.”

Hadrian turned upwards, a nostalgic look coming across his features

“Before Samael and I met, I was a slave in the gladiatorial pits. Before that, I was hardly treated any better. My parents neglected, and eventually abandoned me for my sibling when I was only 2 years old, and they gave me to my aunt and uncle. I didn’t remember my parents for a long time, I had been told they had died when I was a baby.”

At this, Hadrian’s fists started to curl.

“And there, I was somehow treated even worse. A slave, in all but name, for eight years. These marks you see on my face are a combination of the injuries I sustained from them and an incident that occured to me later in life. Same as you, minus the burn scars…”

At this, Whitley touched his face. Hadrian coughed, almost embarrassed.

“...but anyways, I’m getting off topic. When I reached 11 years of age, I received the nastiest shock of my life. My parents, whom I had believed long dead, were alive. I had a brother that had grown in the lap of luxury, while I had been beaten and burned for being a freak in the view of my aunt. My parents came to pick me up when they realized they could no longer ignore me and the power growing within me. They pretended that I hadn’t suffered, that they hadn’t chosen to throw me about because I wasn’t as powerful as my baby brother to them. It made me  _ furious.” _

Hadrian snarled, lightning started to flare around his body.

__ ”Did they seriously expect me to forget it all? That they had effectively left me to die because I wasn’t good enough for them?! No. No no no no, I was not going to let them get away with it. Not after everything that had befallen me. I made a nuisance of myself. I called every lawyer, every rival my dear father had, and did my absolute best to crucify his public reputation. However, in my rage, I had gravely underestimated my father. By the time my dear family had reunited with me, he had a reputation greater than a saint! In the eyes of the society I was a part of, my family could do no wrong, whatsoever, and I soon learned that no matter what I did, no one would ever touch my father. He was simply too powerful. After the fiasco I made, I decided to lay low and plan my revenge. Alas, it was not to be. A year later, an.. _ incident _ , occurred in my school, involving the murder of those in a lower class of the society I was a part of. My father, seeing the opportunity to get rid of me for good, had all the blame pinned on me, and had me thrown in prison. The rest of the world followed suit in blaming me for what happened, since it was my father who accused his own son of wrongdoing, and he could not POSSIBLY be wrong! He loved his sons! It must’ve torn him to pieces to accuse his own child!”

At this, Hadrian turned to Whitley

“For three years, I languished in that prison. Whatever horror stories you hear about prisons in this world or Samael’s world, it was nothing. Nothing, compared to that tiny island, where your hopes, dreams, your own bloody soul, was feasted on by creatures who delighted in your suffering. I should have died, many times over, but my hatred of the society I had unwittingly joined, my fury at my father, and the thought of revenge, kept me alive. I clung to those ideas like a drowning man, even as my skin paled and my skeletal body thinned. One day, when I had turned 15 years old, I experienced a flash of light, and was thrown into a sandy pit”

Hadrian laughed, without mirth.

“Just my luck. I had been thrown from one hell to another. At least there weren’t any soul suckers this time. The Pits were harsh, but I had already survived so much, I would not die now.”

At this, a spiked chain began to materialize, black as night and surrounded by spikes that resembled small knives.

“Ah, Daggertail, what fond memories I hold of you. I spent two years in the Pits, fighting day in and day out, learning the brutal art of the chain whip and how to best use it. One day, I met him.”

Whitley leaned forward “Who?” he asked, thought he already had an idea who it was.

“Samael.” Hadrian replied, confirming Whitley’s suspicions. “He had heard of a gladiator experienced with a chain whip, and realized that there was more to me than what met the eye. He came to me in the aftermath of a match.”

Suddenly, the world started to distort.

**“What the hell?!”** Whitley and Hadrian shouted, before an image of a sandy pit appeared in front of them.

Whitley was stunned, and Hadrian was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“How strange. I was not expecting this, at all.”

The image played, almost like a film. They saw a pale man with a hideous burn scar across his face, panting in exhaustion.

_ “Wait, that’s him!” _ , Whitley thought. “ _ That’s Hadrian!” _


	10. Interlude I (The Master’s Past Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian reminisces of the time he and Samael first met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt that the last chapter was getting too long, so I put this flashback in a new chapter. With that said, enjoy!

_Hadrian panted in exhaustion, his breath coming in short bursts. This had been the hardest fight of them all in the two years he had been here. An actual SITH had dropped down from the seats and challenged him to a fight. It was brutal and merciless, though honestly, from what little he’d heard about the Sith, it was par for the course. In the midst of all the boos and sabers igniting, one sound stood out._

_Clapping._

_The roar of the crowd died down slowly as a tan skinned teenager with silver hair started to descend from the rafters to the pit below._

_“Encore! More! Bravo!” the teen shouted, a smile on his face. He continued to clap, even as the Pit’s security started to get in front of him. His “owner”, Darex Tillisk, had run towards the strange teen._

_“Sir, I understand if you were entertained by a fight, but please, this slave just killed a Sith! We must punish hi-”_

_The teen shoved Darex out of the way._

_“Yes, yes, Imperial Law states that any who kill a Sith must suffer the penalty of death, but that only exists for the Empire’s citizens. Non Force-Sensitives. This, Mr. Tillisk, is a unique case.”_

_Darex sputtered. “You can’t be serious. He’s a slave! He can’t be…”_

_The teen smirk only grew in size. “I’m afraid he is, Mr. Tillsk. As such, I will be taking him with me. You will be compensated for your loss, of course. Just please, stay out of my way.”_

_The teenager hopped into the pit. Hadrian snarled. “You want...a fight...too?!” he wheezed painfully. Hadrian held no such illusions of his chances. The only reason he was able to stand was his stubbornness and adrenaline, and one of those was going to fade in a minute. The mysterious teenager only shook his head._

_“I have no desire to fight you, Mr...”_

_“Hadrian” he spat out._

_“Hadrian” The teen continued on, unoffended. “In fact, I wish to help you.”_

_Hadrian wasn’t buying it for one moment. He raised Daggertail, his hands shaking in exhaustion._

_“Bull...shit.” he growled. Every syllable was taking its toll on him._

_The teenager glanced at him, unamused. “Hadrian, I do not wish to push you, but I am not lying. You see, I represent a man who wishes to see the potential of all those in the Empire flourish. Tell me, have you ever experienced something rather...odd? Healing abnormally fast, striking unnatural fear into your opponents, anything like that.?_

_Hadrian’s eyes widened. How did this teenager know about his magic?! His fists tightened. The teenager put his arms up nonthreatingly, almost like he was surrendering. At this point, Hadrian could no longer stand. He fell down on his back. He couldn’t muster the effort to get up._

_“Easy, now. I did not mean to offend. Look, I’m going to be honest with you. Either you take my offer, or your owner over there…” the teen threw his head sharply towards Darex’s position. “...is going to have you executed. Now, the way I see it, you have two choices. You can come with me, with the opportunity of harnessing your powers and rising from these pits to the top of our Empire. Or...you can stay here, dying fruitlessly over the entertainment of these...savages. So, I ask you...” At this, the teenager held out his hand, offering it to Hadrian._

_“Will you join me?”_

_Hadrian rolled his eyes. However, he didn’t say anything. He was no fool. This was the best chance he had to escape this nonsense, and he was going to take it._

_“You know, for someone who likes to pretend he’s so courteous, it’s rather rude not to introduce yourself.” Hadrian stated, rather sarcastically._

_ The teenager laughed, his volcanic orange eyes twinkling in amusement. He draped Hadrian’s hand over his shoulder. _

_ “It’s Samael. Samael Hord.” _


	11. Sneak Peek II: Broken Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley has to give a little speech to his new power base, before he leaves Atlas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At times, my mind gets ahead of myself, and I have a hard time keeping patient, so I let off some steam by writing down the stuff that I planned ahead. I decided to call them Sneak Peeks, since they’re sneak peeks of where the story will be headed. These are just for the future. This one is an end to the Atlas Arc, where Whitley finally leaves Atlas to travel Remnant. When I get around to the actual chapter, I’ll put the whole chapter again, but for now, for those interested, enjoy!

Whitley was, in all honesty, rather terrified. At only 14 years old, he had to give a speech to dozens of violent extremists on the verge of joining the terrorists that hated his family name. Nevertheless, he had to do this, for his new power base in Atlas, and Amo’s sake if nothing else. The burly faunus came out to meet him.

“Whitley, I’ve got the boys out there. They’re waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Amos.”

Amos shook his head. “Don’t thank me just yet. I feel like I’ve underestimated the youngsters here, both human and Faunus. They’re rather….angry.”

Whitley shook his head. Of course they would be. Whatever pain and tragedy he had gone through, the faunus had suffered it hundreds of times worse. The humans, for all the pain they had gone through as well, would not matter to them. It was up to him to get the faunus and humans to listen to him. As Hadrian had put it best,  _ A Sith must develop a power base. _ Whitley had the opportunity handed to him on a silver platter. And yet, what Whitley felt for these faunus and humans were more than just satisfaction at building power. He wanted to help them. He had broken his chains, and he wanted them to break theirs, without losing everything. He took a deep breath, and then strode out to meet the group in the room.

The faunus and humans, shouting at each other with fervent hatred, quieted down when they saw the black robed man walking in front of them.  _ Thank the Brothers for the Mask,  _ Whitley thought once again. Hadrian was right, the Mask was turning out to be the most useful tool in his arsenal so far. He tapped on the microphone a few times.

“I’d like to get everyone’s attention.” The crowd quieted down. Whitley cleared his throat.

“I assume many of you have heard of me, yes? Starkiller, Atlas’s rather unpopular vigilante?” At this, the crowd either cheered for Starkiller, or booed, yelling obscenities about the council and Jacques Schnee.

Whitley chuckled. “Before I say anything, I’ll get one thing out of the way. I’ve never been one for long, eloquent speeches. I’ve always fashioned myself as a man of action, speaking through what I do, rather than what I say...” At this, Whitley paused. “...but I figured, since you all are here, it would be a disservice if I didn’t say something.”

Whitley continued onwards. “You began with nothing when I found you. When  _ we  _ found you. Now, you stand amidst the base you have created. Our group here, our alliance, grows every day. You have all come here, to build, to create, to fight, and I appreciate each and every one of you You all have done well…” 

Whitley paused, taking a breath “…but we have much yet to accomplish. The Atlesian Council remains a threat to everything we have built. The White Fang continue to kill not only humans, but their own kind, further dragging down the progress of Faunus Rights, and that man over there...” Whitley pointed at the SDC Headquarters. “...will not hesitate until you are all labor, working in his death machine to fuel his shareholder’s profits!” At this, the crowd roared, their hatred almost disorienting the young Sith. Despite this, he pushed on.

“We are surrounded by enemies, but not all hope is yet lost. We set out to fight the same battle our ancestors have fought in the past, but the outcome  **WILL** be different, because  **WE** are different. Like the most powerful of predators, we have grown, evolved, learned! You are not the same Faunus that Atlas has fought in the past! You are not the same humans whose revolts were crushed under Atlas’s Military! No longer will we throw away the strength of the faunus! No longer will we ignore the wisdom of humans! The Free People of Atlas have held themselves back before, but no longer! Now, they will face the true strength of Atlas! Now, they will face  **YOU** !” He roared into the microphone, a sudden energy grabbing him.

The crowd, once ready to tear at each other’s throats, began to cheer themselves hoarse. Whitley shook his head in disbelief. He had done it. He had unified the divisive elements of his new power base. Amos came up, a proud smile adorned on his face.

“You did it, Whitley. You really fuckin did it. Fuckin hell. I haven’t seen a group this energized in a long time. That speech was...I’m not gonna lie. It was a powerful speech, one all of Remnant should’ve heard broadcasted.”

Whitley took a deep breath. “Glad you seem to think so. I had no idea what I was saying half the time. What do you think is going to happen, Amos?”

Amos shook his head. “No clue. Based on how many of your followers seem to be rushing to get things done and helping each other out, I have a feeling they’re gonna get along much better now. Maybe our little movement here really could rival the Fang’s, who knows?”

Whitley nodded, before a frown adorned his face. “Are you certain you’ll be fine leading in my stead, Amos? I’ve waited a long time to go on my journey. I could stay back a little bi-”

Amos shook his head. “You’ve done enough for us already, Whitley. I promise you, we’re gonna be fine. If anything bad happens, I’ll give you a call. Just make sure to have that little disguise of yours ready. If they find out a Schnee is leading them…. It won’t be pretty. I can at least leak out little snippets of data to the youngsters showing that someone close to Jacques Schnee is helping our cause, but it’ll still take some time.” At this, Amos and Whitley exited the small base. “So, guess this is goodbye, huh kid.”

Whitley nodded. “Strange. For so many months now, I’ve dreamed of leaving this place. And yet, now...I have no wish to leave. It’s funny, isn’t it?”

Amos chuckled. “That’s Atlas for ya, Whitley. Lures everyone in with the promise of opportunity, then shows them the harsh truth of reality. Never lets you go, this cursed Kingdom.” Amos turned to Whitley, opening his arms. Whitley followed through, embracing the old man. “Remember, if you don’t find out what you’re looking for, or if the Free People of Atlas doesn’t work out, well, you’ll always have a place with me and my family.”

Whitley chuckled. “Imagine that, a Schnee in a faunus household. Dear old dad would go mad, wouldn’t he?” He let go, brushing away a few tears that had gathered in his eyes. “Goodbye, Amos. We will see each other again, I promise.”

“Goodbye, kiddo.”

At this, Whitley put on his large hooded robes. It was time. Time to leave Atlas, to begin his true training. Like Samael had done so millenia ago, Whitley would travel Remnant, learning all he could, seeking greater challenge to further his growth. As he walked away from Atlas, Whitley took in a deep breath.

He was finally free.


	12. Acolyte’s Training IV (Taste of Power)

Whitley was shaken by the scene that had just transpired in front of his eyes.

“That was you? You and Samael?” he asked.

Hadrian nodded. “Yes. Samael always was a charismatic chap, even as a teenager.” Hadrian looked at the clock near Whitley’s study table. “We’ve wasted enough time reminiscing. Let’s begin the next part of your training. Eat some food and head to the cave.” Hadrian popped back into the holocron. Whitley sighed, before he applied his Mask, clothes, and gloves, and headed to eat breakfast. On the way back to the dining room, Whitley received a rather unpleasant surprise.

Weiss. 

Apparently, she had come back from her trip. She turned around, surprised, before frowning.

“Oh, it’s _you_.”

Whitley clenched his fists. He didn’t want to even reply to her inane comment, but his mouth acted before his brain could kick in. “Funny. Gone for a few days, come back, and immediately insult me. Really feeling the love here, _sister._ ” 

Weiss crossed her arms. “Don’t act as if you’re innocent, _brother._ Or have you already forgotten what you did to mother?”

Whitley’s glare intensified. He shoulder bumped her out of his way. “Believe me, if I had the power, I would do far worse” He growled. “Stay out of my way.”

Whitley was trying to calm himself, but he was having little success in doing so. He rushed to the dining room, taking a plate and hastily piling his breakfast on top of it. 

Now that Weiss had returned, Klein wasn’t there in the dining room. That was fine with him. Anonymity and the secrecy that came with it would work wonders for his training. Whitley planned on pushing himself past his limits, something that he wouldn’t be able to get away quite as easily with if anyone was bothering to pay attention to him. After he polished off the omelette, Whitley hastily grabbed the holocrons and took them to the hideout. In the cave, Hadrian popped out, his arms crossed sternly.

“Well, a new day of your training approaches, and with it, comes new pain. Sit down for a minute, you’ll need your energy for what I’m about to put you through.”

Whitley sat down, slightly perturbed at what his master was planning. “What is it we are doing today, master?” he asked.

Hadrian scratched his chin in thought, before smiling. He turned around and spread his arms like a showman. In front of Whitley’s eyes were multiple pyramids, each one either larger or smaller than Whitley. Hadrian then turned to Whitley again.

“You must strengthen your connection to the Force, Acolyte. Your survival, up to this point, has been through as much luck as it has been natural talent with the Force. However, when it comes to the Sith, natural talent alone is not enough to survive, let alone thrive.”

Whitley nodded, realizing the wisdom in his master’s words.

Hadrian began to pace around Whitley. “Feel it’s power within you” he whispered, before demonstrating what Whitley was meant to do. Whitley could only watch, dumbfounded as Hadrian effortlessly started to lift all the pillars off their base. All of them were lifted into the air, hovering far above Whitley and Hadrian. There was no strain present on Hadrian’s face. After a few seconds, he put them all down.

“Now, **lift them**.” Hadrian commanded. Whitley nodded, shaking himself out of his stupor. He held out his hands, concentrating as hard as he could. All the pillars began to shake a small bit, but they were refusing to lift up. He pushed himself even harder. The pillars began to lift a few inches off the ground, but they were refusing to go as high as Hadrian had accomplished. Sweat pouring from his face, Whitley found himself falling to his knees.

“I...I can’t” he breathed heavily. His heart was pounding out of it’s chest. He glared at Hadrian “What you ask is impossible!”

Hadrian smirked. “Impossible?” He started to walk up to Whitley. “This task is only impossible because you have deemed it so.”

Hadrian turned around. He started to chuckle madly. A surge of power started to fill the air. Whitley, for the first time, started to fear what his teacher would do to him.

“You must connect to your **HATRED**!” he roared, before blasting Whitley with a surge of magic.

Whitley screamed in pain, as the memories started to overwhelm him.

**_“We regret to inform our viewers that the body of world renowned painter, Nickel Gelded, has been found dead. The White Fang has claimed responsibility for his apparently violent demise. Nickel’s brother, Jacques Schnee, has, at this time, declined to comment”_ **

**_”You can’t do this, Jacques!”_ **

**_“How dare you?! She’s our sister! Why aren’t you happy for her”_ **

**_“I HATE YOU! BOTH OF YOU! IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU BOTH DIED”_ **

**_“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”_ **

**_“I thought I could help you, protect you, but it’s become clear. You’re no better than father!”_ **

**_“I pitied you, Whitley. I hoped that when I graduated, I could take care of the both of you. Now, I fear I am far too late.”_ **

**_“For it is in passing that you understand your hubris...”_ **

**_“What happened was a mistake son...”_ **

Whitley stopped screaming, breathing heavily. Hadrian continued his lecture. “Focus on your power building.”

**_SMASH_ **

**_Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why did no one come?_ **

**_But Whitley knew the answer._ **

**_No one cared._ **

**_No one ever cared._ **

**_They didn’t care._ **

**_They wanted him to die._ **

His fists started to tremble. 

“Do not let anyone or anything in the moment distract you. Keep your focus on your source of power.” Hadrian stated.

_There was a mirror in front of him, showing something completely wrong._

Whitley’s eyes turned into a blood red. 

Hadrian smiled. “ **That’s it** ” he growled. “Your anger is your strength. **Use it** ”

Whitley started to stand, shakily.

“I **hate** them.” he whispered, rage curdling in his very veins.

“Good.” 

**_“I’m sorry to say that no one came close to the door. Not even to look for you after that tumble you had.”_ **

**_“That boy is not right in the head. Mark my words, he’s going to turn out just like his father.”_ **

**_“Oh yes. I’ve seen it before. The way he trails after his father, almost like a lapdog.”_ **

**_Why was he now cursed with these inhuman features he had to constantly hide?!_ **

Whitley roared, pushing his hands outwards. The pillars, once refusing to lift off their base, now lifted dozens of feet into the air. Various cracks started to decorate them, as they were being shredded apart by the pure power that Whitley was unleashing on them. After a few seconds, Whitley was forced to drop them, panting heavily.

He stared at his master in awe. “Those visions of my past… What did you do to me? How does one defend themselves against that power?”

Hadrian chuckled. “A wise master does not reveal ALL his secrets at once. All in due time, acolyte.”

He turned and started heading back to the holocron. “You did well. This was your first major push into aggressively utilizing the Dark Side. Rest assured, if you continue to progress at this rate, I have no doubt you will succeed in your future endeavors.”

He disappeared into the holocron, leaving his student panting heavily on the floor.

Whitley got up and headed towards the exit of the cave. The power rushing inside him, unlike the last few times he had utilized it, hadn’t disappeared. It felt almost like a drug, the power to push mountains and destroy any obstacles in his way.

It felt liberating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And with that, Whitley gets his first taste of the more aggressive power of the Dark Side. Naturally, to someone who’s been pretty much defenseless their whole lives, it’s a wonderful feeling to finally be able to fight back.
> 
> I’m sorry about the late chapter, guys. I’ve been dealing with a lot of shit lately. To make matters worse, I don’t really follow much of a schedule when it comes to writing, since I mostly write for fun. I’m feeling slightly better now, and I decided that I should get out this chapter.
> 
> Next Chapter: The Sith Holocaust


End file.
